Alive and Well

Fear the brown boxes, packed,
the edges soft and dented from ancient water and practice.
Tears, never heard or burdened. 

Fear the cap and gown, looming,
the faded pixie dust.
The superior words and published anthologies,
and the insufficient funds that wouldn't budge.
Drown in transparent bubbles and fermentation.

Afraid of the presentation at three, the number on the scale,
gripping the leather of the steering wheel, your hands always slipped.
Wish for different chemicals to fill your dizzying head,
the skin around your nails bleeding, chewed over.

Terrified of forgetting the creased lines in your face,
deep with memories.
Curse the words you had buried,
deep in the closet, and pray
to whoever would listen.